


blue as the winter that surrounds us

by AppleJuiz



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Reunion, Sharing a Bed, implied PTSD, post 3x02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 18:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4971037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleJuiz/pseuds/AppleJuiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wants to apologize for waking him, but she doesn't want the first thing she says to him in four and a half months to be a 'Sorry'. So she focus on breathing and not panicking, because she's safe. He's here. She's home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blue as the winter that surrounds us

The last time she heard Fitz speak was 4 months, 17 days, and roughly 8 hours ago. She's been trying keeping meticulous count, but time is funny around here and she's not sure if her wrist watch is still accurate and the days here could be longer or shorter than earth ones, and... Well, basically there is a lot of room for error but she's been trying to keep count anyway.   
It's been exactly 2 and a half hours since she saw a flare in the sky. She's approximately 550 feet away from the flares origin, can see down into the valley from where she’s standing, when the portal opens and she's caught in the middle of the roaring winds. It's three minutes after that that Fitz starts screaming her name.   


She's been fooled before. Voices in her head convincing her that he's really there, that he found a way to bring her back, that he’s there to put an end to the pain and the struggling. She's seen him before, usually in the same outfit he was wearing before she was dragged away. Sometimes he falls apart at seeing her again. Sometimes he teases her because he figured it all out before she did (and she replies just as teasingly that of course he could figure it out first since he wasn't stranded with archaic technologies).  Sometimes he doesn’t do anything, just smiles and stares. **  
**

 

However, knowing that it might be another hopeful delusion doesn’t stop her from rushing right into it.  She scrambles towards the sound of his voice, shouting back at him, damning the consequences because this could be it.  He found her, he figured it out, she gets to go home now.   **  
**

 

It’s 54 seconds after she hears his voice again that she sees him.  He looks different than she last saw him: dark rimmed eyes, rumpled clothes.  He’s struggling against the winds, and that’s when she starts to believe that he’s really there.   **  
**

 

It's been 4 months, 17 days, and roughly 8 and a half hours since the last time she saw him, since she last heard him speak. He spots her, calls out again, and in her head, the little stop watches that kept the time that kept growing and growing reset to zero. **  
**

 

It’s been 4 months, 17 days, and roughly 15 hours since she last touched another human being, but when her fingers brush against his that timer resets as well.  They slip and fumble trying to get a good hold on each other, and that’s a metaphor if she’s ever seen one.  He’s being pulled back, yanked home, yet still pressed forward as best he can, but it’s not enough.  And she’s exhausted, ready to kneel over and give up because she’s tired and it’s all so hard.  But they’ve made it this far.  God knows, how he figured it out, what he must’ve done, because it’s been four months and if it took that long for Fitz to figure it out, she doesn’t even want to know what he had to do to get this far. And she knows every single thing she’s done to make it this far, to have survived this long.   **  
**

 

She made a deal with the Fitz in her head in her first few weeks in this hell, to split the work like they always did, that she would focus on surviving until he figured out how to bring her home.  She knows she has to be the one to bridge the gap now, to make this one small step after he’s pushed so far, crossed an entire universe, to get this far.  So she presses forward even though everything hurts and everything is pushing against her, and she grabs his hand and she doesn’t let go.  She refuses to slip up, to give up, even as the winds rip around them and the world is ending and everything’s turning black.  She closes her eyes and doesn’t relinquish her death grip on his hand, because it’s all or nothing at this point. **  
**

 

When she comes to, she’s covered in dust and rocks, but there’s a steady heartbeat next to hers, warmth along her right side and light from above.  She opens her eyes, and the light is blinding after months in the dark, but she’s desperate to take in any sight she can that isn’t blue and grey and dull.  They’re in a pit or rubble.  Above her, Coulson, Bobbi, Mack, and Skyeare standing around the edge staring down in amazement.  She glances over to her left, getting her first good look at him since she was yanked away.  He’s partially beneath her, breathing heavy, grinning like a fiend.  She feels warm and safe. **  
**

 

It had been 4 months, 17 days, and roughly 9 hours since she was last on Earth, since she was last able to relax, since she last felt safe, since the last second she didn't have to fight for survival. She resets that timer in her head, and lets sleep, true, deep, completely gone from the world sleep, pull her under.

**  
**  
*  


 

 

She trusts Fitz. If there's one thing that hasn't changed about her from the time she started at the Academy to years later after bullets, betrayals, and catastrophes beyond her wildest dreams, it's the fact that she 100% trusts Leopold Fitz with her entire life. So it's easy to black out, fall away from the world, let herself be vulnerable and unguarded after months and months of paranoia and constant defense. She knows that she doesn't have to protect herself right now, because Fitz is here and he can do it for her for a little while, willingly and passionately. **  
**

 

The problem is she forgot, like so many others had before, that Fitz wasn't actually in her head, no matter how in tune they were sometimes. So sure, she was safe and warm and Fitz was here and safe and warm, but that didn't stop the black in her mind's eye from turning blue again. As amazing it had felt to be in Fitz's arms again, it didn't erase the feeling of sharp rocks scraping against her skin, or hard sand on her worn feet while running, or the burning in her lungs and her chest because sure there was oxygen in this atmosphere, but it was different and it hurt sometimes. Everything hurt, all the time. She dreamed of monsters and pain and a hell that wasn't fiery and red, but blue and frigid and lonely, and she startled awake in a bed that felt too soft to be real and a weapon in her hand but no enemy in sight. **  
**

 

No one but Fitz, looking young and innocent and perfect in his sleep.

 

She drops the weapon, desperately reminding herself that it was over, she was safe. She didn't need to defend herself from anything right now except the ache in her chest that came over her when she stared at Fitz for too long. **  
**

 

The bed is too soft. She melts into it too easy, so easy that it feels like she's going to sink into it and suffocate. So she climbs out of it. She pulls her jumper’s sleeves over her wrists, and sits down on the floor next to Fitz's chair. She hooks her arms around his shin, presses her head to his thigh and lets the sound of the pulse from his femoral artery calm her down, keep her grounded, remind her that she's safe, she's home, it's over, he's here now. **  
**

 

He wakes up soon after, and she realized that gripping his lower leg like a lifeline might not have been the best route if she wanted to go undetected. She stays still, hoping that maybe they can just stay like that for a little longer or maybe forever and not have to move or talk. She's planned what she might say to him during any second of time in the past four months that wasn't spent panicking, fighting, or running, but now that the moment is here, she doesn't want to say anything or do anything except cling to him and control her breathing. **  
**

 

She listens to him yawn and swallow and glance down at her and breathe a little quicker. She wants to apologize for waking him, but she doesn't want the first thing she says to him in four and a half months to be a 'Sorry'. So she focus on breathing nice and easy and not panicking, because she's safe, he's here and she's home. **  
**

 

Fitz's hand drifts through her newly cleaned hair, coming to rest on the back of her neck. Her Fitz, her clumsy awkward Fitz, slides out of the chair and comes to kneel next to next to her in a single gracious movement. **  
**

 

She finds herself taking him in like a starving woman, eyes jumping over his forehead, his eyes, his cheekbones, his nose, his- dear God- mouth, trying to memorize it as fast as she could. It takes her a few seconds to recognize the same desperation in his eyes, his eyes that are so blue that she almost cringes. His eyes are warm though, and more than just the color; they're desperate and hopeful all at once. **  
**

 

"Jemma?" He breathes, hand moving to brush against her cheek. She tries to think of something witty and teasing, because in her fantasies, the bantering was the least painful way about this, but nothing comes to her. **  
**

 

"I'm here," she says, carefully, measured, because these are the words that count. She hasn't seen him in so long. She needs to make this count. **  
**

 

He almost collapses, and oh no, these were always the most painful ones, when he would cry and hug her tight and breath heavy like he had the weight of the world on his lithe shoulders. But he doesn't cry or collapse, he just sort of folds into her. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls them flush together and buries his face in her neck and breathes and breathes. **  
**

 

"You are," he mutters, wondered, awed. "You really are." **  
**

 

She wraps her arms around his neck  and clings to him just as tight, closing her eyes and focusing on matching her heartbeat to his. **  
**

 

"I would hope so," she offers. And he actually laughs. Well, laughs is a little strong, but he huffs out a breath that sounds like a laugh. And that timer, the one that counts how long it's been since she last heard Fitz laugh, goes beyond the monolith and the struggling and the pain, so it feels even more satisfying to reset. **  
**

 

"Sorry it took me so long," he says, and it sounds like a joke, but, she realizes with a jolt, she can still read him well enough to know he’s hiding some guilt, and is not doing that great a job of it. **  
**

 

"Ah, yes, because I'm sure you took your sweet time," she challenges, and he gives another almost laugh and dismisses it all with a shake of his head. **  
**

 

"Alright, but how are you?" he asks, lifting his head up to look at her. **  
**

 

"Doing significantly better than twelve hours ago," she replies, quirking an eyebrow, and she gets a small grin for her troubles. "Trying to convince myself that I'm really here." **  
**

 

He lets out a bitter snort. "Well, that's something you're not alone in." **  
**

 

"It’s okay though.  You act different than the you in my head," she explains. "It's keeping me grounded." **  
**

 

He looks devastated by the admission, but  nods earnestly, like he truly understands what she's saying. **  
**

 

"Glad I can be of some help then," he says, smiling weakly. They fall into a silence, foreheads pressed together, just breathing. By all measures, she should absolutely hate silence by this point, but it's different. She missed this type of silence, where she doesn't need to fill the space between them because it's already full, where it's not empty space around them but comfort and warmth and home. She missed him more than she could ever say, but says it anyway. **  
**

 

"I missed you," she says. It comes out ragged and broken and his breath hitches and his arms around her tighten. **  
**

 

"I missed you, too, Jemma," he breathes. **  
**

 

She takes a deep breath to build up courage for what she's about to do, because she promised herself and whatever else was out there in the universe that if she made it back home, if she made it back to him, she wouldn't play around anymore, wouldn’t hesitate or hold back, she'd say what she should have said years ago but was too cowardly to. **  
**

 

"I-" she begins and he says, "Jem-" at the same time, and she dissolves into a fit of laughter that's mostly genuine, even though it wasn’t funny. **  
**

 

"You go ahead," they say at the same time, and she laughs some more and he grins sheepishly at her. He gestures for her to go ahead, and she's not afraid anymore, of saying exactly what she needs to. **  
**

 

"I love you," she announces, as bold as she can muster with the shaking in her stomach. It's words that she's said to him before, not as much as she should have, but they know it means something different now.  And God, the way he beams at her, like a kid on Christmas morning, like he'd just won a Nobel Prize or something better. **  
**

 

"I love you, too," he says, and even though it's unnecessary, because she knows and it’s all she’s been thinking about for the past four months and hell, even before that, it still makes her heart soar. "So damn much, Jem." **  
**

 

His hand is on her cheek, brushing loose strand of hair behind her ear so very gently.  She knows what happens next. She’s thought about it so much, and knows him so well, that she knows exactly what’s coming before it does: he’ll lean in and she’ll lean in, they’ll close the miniscule gap that’s always been between them, they’ll melt into each other and hold on and not want to let go ever, and with a little bit of luck and a lot of determination they’ll never have to.  And she wants it.  She’s been ready for a while now, she’s been patient, and she’s fought hard for this, harder than she thought she would have to, and it’s all worth it, all of it’s worth it for a single shot at this thing between them.  But inside her is something with rough edges, waiting to cut.  She’s desperate and needy, feels a timer in her head that doesn’t have a name, and isn’t counting up but rather counting down ominously, driving her to do wild things.  She wants all of that gone, so when they do fit themselves together, he doesn’t get hurt. **  
**

 

So when he leans in, eyes wide, yet fluttering shut, she stops him, as gently as she can with a hand on his shoulder. **  
**

 

“Wait,” she says, watching as his eyes snap open and he looks downright guilty for more things that aren’t his fault in the slightest.  “Fitz, I’m sorry, but… just not now.  I just need a few days to...  It’s not that I don’t… I just can’t… I just don’t want to do this when I…when I....” **  
**

 

He nods, smiles reassuringly, and she breathes a little easier.    


“It’s okay, Jemma,” he says, and it sounds genuine and looks genuine and she’s like to hope that he understand, but maybe he doesn’t and he’s hurting and confused again. **  
**

 

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” she repeats.   **  
**

 

“I know,” he says.  “Besides, I mean, well, it might have been a little premature, I dunno, but I uh, well, I might have made reservations at that Italian place that you said you liked, just in case you know, you were serious about getting dinner.  It’s fine if you don’t.  I mean, we don’t have to go or anything.  It’s kind of dumb when I really think about it now..” **  
**

 

“Trying to court me properly, Fitz?” she accuses teasingly.  He grins sheepishly, rubs at the back of his neck the way he always does when he’s a little embarrassed. **  
**

 

“Maybe,” he admits, blushing bright red. **  
**

 

“I’m quite amazed,” she announces.  “Who knew you could be a proper gentleman?” **  
**

 

“Well, I have been told I do crazy things when it comes to love,” he offers.  There’s a burden in her chest that’s lifting, lighting on fire.  She feels like she could float.  She feels hopeful, and it’s dangerous but she can’t stop herself.  So, even though she already answered 4 months 17 day and who knows how many hours ago, she says yes, and revels in the childlike excitement that washes over them.

**  
***  
  


 

She can’t stay on the floor with Fitz forever, unfortunately. So she ventures out into the base, reacquainting herself with the place and it’s people.  Lots has changed: May’s gone, so is Hunter, Skye wants to be called Daisy (And she’s working on that one but it feels weird.), Bobbi is a biologist (A part of her, a very bitter and cynical part, wonders if Bobbi was Coulson’s idea of a replacement, but she dismisses those thoughts as fast as she can.), and they’re working on creating an Inhuman team.   **  
**

 

She understands most of everything that’s changed, but there’s one thing that keeps confusing her.  Everyone in the base, from techs to Sk-Daisy and Coulson, treat her like she’s fragile as glass.   **  
**

 

They all speak to her in soft tones, asking “Simmons, do you need anything?”, “Are you cold?”, “Do you want to lie down, Simmons?”, "Are you hungry?", "Do you want me to get Fitz for you?", and on and on. They mean well, she gets that. But she doesn't know what they expect. They act like she's seconds from breaking apart, and she's... confused. **  
**

 

Do they even know what she's been through? Can they even comprehend what she's done, what she's seen? Don't they understand that she fought for her life every single second she was gone? **  
**

 

She's not fragile or breakable; she's never been stronger in her entire life. Four months she's spent running, fighting, unraveling the secrets of a far off planet and surviving, sometimes thriving for a few seconds before it was back to running and fighting. Being home again is not the hard part. She's not about to fall apart, because she's safe now.  the hard part, the struggling, the running, clawing, pain, all of the points were she should have broken are past her. She made it through all of them, cracking just a little, but still whole, and she's stronger because of it. **  
**

 

That's not to say she's perfectly fine or back to normal. She still has moments of panic, where she fears she'll wake up in the dirt of a blue hellscape, because coming home had only been a beautiful, perfect dream. Sometimes she doesn't remember how to talk to people, sometimes even forgets that they’re there because she’s so used to existing on her own. There are times when she's walking through the halls, she starts muttering to herself the way she used to do in order to fill the awful suffocating silence. Occasionally, when she does remember the people around her, they stop being people and all she can see are threats, something she has to outrun or something she has to fight. She finds herself measuring caloric intake again, calculating how much she needs to survive and saving the rest for when she runs out.  She makes note of potential weapons around her, all escape routes, and anything else she can use to her advantage if something tries to attack. There was one day that Bobbi wore a light blue shirt, and she spaced out of the conversation she was having for two full minutes until Bobbi's hand landed on her shoulder and she jolted back to Earth. (Bobbi had been kind about it, too, teasingly accusing her of staring at her boobs. But her equally light response didn't get rid of the pitying- no, concerned- look in Bobbi’s eyes.) **  
**

 

But that's different from what everyone seems to think. Sure, she's getting back to normal and struggling just a little, but she catches herself pretty quickly whenever she slips up. And that doesn't mean a wrong look was going to make her break. She was stronger than that, knew how to fight for herself. And she even proves it. **  
**

 

It was one of the techs. One of the arrogant and noisy ones, not the helpful, quiet ones. She technically isn't supposed to be in the lab because Coulson was not Fitz and therefore thought she was going to fall apart any second now, but she had spent four months conducting experiments without sufficient technology and she was never going to take her lab equipment for granted ever again. However, while she was there, and trying to figure out how the organic chemistry of the planet worked, without pens and paper or any way to take notes, she would always make observations and do calculations out loud to better catch mistakes. And she hadn't exactly grown out of the habit yet. So the techs working in the lab caught her muttering nonsense to herself as she peered over slides, and weren't all that understanding about it. **  
**

 

"It's like a Greek tragedy," the awful tech mutters to his friends. He's far enough away that he must think she can't hear him, but unfortunately for him, her survival depending on how well she could hear potential threats approaching. And she hears every single word. "I mean, they were Academy royalty. The power couple of the Sci Tech world. And look at them now. He's a stuttering mess and she's a complete basket case. It's downright embarrassing. Brightest minds of our time and they're reduced to this." **  
**

 

She knows he keeps talking, but she forgets what he said after that. In fact, she forgets everything that happens after that until suddenly, Mack is yanking her off the tech, who's now on the floor and whose eye will be swelled shut for a full two weeks. **  
**

 

She lets Mack pull her back without a fight, aware that everyone in the area was crowded around the lab to stare at her in fear. **  
**

 

"What the hell was that?" Mack demands, broad hand on her shoulder. She really doesn't know what that was and tells him as much, and she's so very grateful that Fitz was doing some work in the garage and didn't have to see whatever that was because she honestly doesn't know. Yet... **  
**

 

"Please don't tell him," she begs Mack, grabbing his arm tighter than she should. "You can't tell him, please, just." **  
**

 

"Deep breaths," he reminds he, in the gentle "don't want to break Simmons" voice, except it's shaky and a little bit fearful. And isn't that a sight, Mack is afraid of her. To his credit, even she is afraid of her right now. "I'm not going to, okay? Deep breaths, and we're gonna head back to your room okay?" She nods, let's Mack wrap his arm behind her back and guide her out of the lab, like a very large protective bubble, shielding her from the small crowd that had gathered. **  
**

 

It was quieter in the hall, and no one moved to follow them, probably too scared of the crazy lady to move. Bloody hell, what had she done? **  
**

 

"You hit Agent Michaels pretty hard," Mack informs her, still using kid gloves. "Any reason why?" **  
**

 

"He said some things about Fitz and I that I believe he didn't mean for me to hear," she explains, not as an excuse, though she does feel slightly justified. "I didn't mean to do that. I just got angry, but I didn't want to hurt him." **  
**

 

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," Mack assures her. "I've seen people with less reason do a lot worse." **  
**

 

"I've never had the best temper, but I've never actually attacked someone like that. I don't know what came over me." **  
**

 

"Simmons, sometimes people need to do certain things to heal. Just maybe next time you should find an actual punching bag instead of using another agent," Mack suggests, as they pull up at the door of her room. "Here we are. Do you want me to go get Fitz for you?" **  
**

 

"Don't bother him, I'm fine," she insists, sounding only slightly indignant, which she counted as a success. **  
**

 

"Okay, then," Mack says, retreating awkwardly. "Try not to beat anyone else up then." **  
**

 

She just ducks into her room and once the door is closed, she sits in the corner with her legs pulled up to her chest and tries to focus on her breathing. Everything is feeling blurry and she feels the cold and the blue and the silence pressing down on her from all sides. She wishes she'd let Mack get Fitz, because Fitz being around made this easier, the breathing and recovering and grounding. But then he'd find out that she lost control and, well, he wouldn't get mad at her, but she was embarrassed honestly and didn't want to think about it anymore.

She sits in the corner for 3 hours and 26 minutes. She knows because she counts the entire time to try to calm herself down, to get the echoes of basket case and stuttering mess out of her head. **  
**

 

When Fitz comes into the room, she stops counting, lets the numbers fade away. He smiles when he sees her, a hint of relief and desperation in his eyes. **  
**

 

Coulson was afraid that after everything they'd been through, they'd become unhealthily codependent, so he kept them working on separate things for most of the day. Of course he never had a problem with their codependency back when he referred to them as a single unit, and okay, maybe she's a little mad at Coulson for reasons, but she has it under control. For the most part, because Fitz will see her after a long day and look so damn amazed that she's still there and hasn't disappeared, and it's not fair that he has to go through that. But that's all besides the point, just a little peeve in the back of her mind sometimes, but she's over it. She's not going to punch Coulson in the face a few times, she's fine. **  
**

 

"I brought some soup," Fitz announces, setting two bowls down on the small table. He doesn't mention the fact that she's sitting in the corner, and she loves him so much for it, her heart soars with it. **  
**

 

She gets up, winces at the pins and needles in her legs, but walks over to Fitz anyway and yanks him into a hug. He holds her back, just as tight and needy, pressing his face into her hair.

She breathes him in, he breathes her in. They're three days away from their first date and they've never been closer. **  
**

 

"I didn't really notice before, but your hair is long again," he says, playing with the ends of her ponytail. **  
**

 

"Well, there wasn't exactly a hair salon I could make an appointment at," she replies, rolling her eyes. He chuckles and pulls back. **  
**

 

"So how was your day?" He asks, fixing the table and pulling her chair out for her. He's been trying to be the perfect gentleman ever since she got back, and it's charming and he's adorable, but she's seen him wear the same shirt for a week straight, forget to shower, pull all nighters, and everything in between. She doesn't understand why he thinks he needs to act differently now, but it makes him happy and it's fun to watch so she lets him. **  
**

 

"It was alright. Got some work done," she answers, before blowing lightly on her soup. "How were you?" **  
**

 

"Great. I just started working on a new project for the Inhuman team.  They need suits that’ll survive their powers," he explains, shoveling soup into his mouth as he talks. "It's going alright, but I could really use your eyes on it. Lots of biology stuff that you're better at." **  
**

 

"Oh, please, give me something to do," she begs. "Catch up work is exhausting. I really just want to start looking at the monolith samples we have, maybe even try to synthesize some of the compounds I found out there." **  
**

 

"I thought they were mostly, uh, you know, Earth-like compounds." **  
**

 

"Some were, but others were like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The issue is, I didn't have enough time or equipment to do proper tests on some of the materials so I'll have to do a lot of guesswork to figure it out." **  
**

 

"Well, if anyone can do it, it's going to be you," Fitz offers, ears turning a little red. It's strange how everything they used to do feels different now. Not drastically so, but little words and actions that used to be nothing now become so much greater with the knowledge of what it all really means. **  
**

 

She drags her chair and her soup around the table so she can sit right next to him and lean her head on his shoulder. **  
**

 

"So I have this date in Friday," she tells him, and he beams. **  
**

 

"Yeah, with who?" **  
**

 

"This awful dork, who's been pestering me about it for weeks." **  
**

 

"Hey!" **  
**

 

"I'm really excited for it but I don't know what to wear. Any suggestions?" **  
**

 

"I'm sure this date of yours doesn't care what you wear, because you're beautiful no matter what." **  
**

She shoves at his shoulder. "Well, that doesn't help me pick at all. Looks like I'll have to ask Skye for help, since you're rubbish at this." **  
**

 

"Daisy," he corrects. **  
**

 

"Right, Daisy. I know that."

**  
***  
  


 

 

It isn't until later, when they're curled up in the bed they've been sharing, catching up on the shows they've missed, that she actually brings up what happened. **  
**

 

"I beat up Agent Michaels," she whispers, and he pauses the episode. **  
**

 

"What do you mean?" Fitz asks gently, running his warm hand along her arm. **  
**

 

"He said some awful things about us. Not to my face, but I heard him anyway and next thing I know he had a black eye and I don't know what happened. I didn't mean to, I just. It just happened and I can't figure out why and I feel like I'm losing it." **  
**

 

Fitz is silent for a moment, but doesn't look upset or afraid. He has that look, the one he gets when he can't find the words that are right on the tip of his tongue. **  
**

 

"When I... Before I figured out how the portal worked, I had a bit of a breakdown. I thought you were dead and it's all fuzzy when I think about it now, but I went into the room where we were keeping the monolithe and I lost it. I didn't even realize what was happening until they were dragging me out." **  
**

 

Her heart aches for him. She hates that everyone thinks she's the only one who has scars from the whole ordeal when he was the one who was left behind. They think he's fine now that she's back, but they don't even understand. **  
**

 

"Fitz," she breathes, brushing a hand through his curls. He leans into her hand, but doesn't meet her eyes. **  
**

 

"It's going to get easier," he promises. "We'll be okay." **  
**

 

They don't put the episode back on. Instead, they curl up together and don't let go. He’s right.  They’re going to get better.  They’re together now, and they’re going to get better.

**  
***  
  


 

 

Bobbi shows up at the lab in time to see her snap her third pencil of the morning.  If she’s shocked by her newfound strength, she doesn’t act it. **  
**

 

“Okay, so either you’re struggling with a project, or it’s hitting you that you’re going on a date tonight,” Bobbi observes, leaning against a lab bench.  “Do I need to put on goggles or should I go get my hidden jar of valentine’s chocolates?” **  
**

 

“It’s both,” Jemma confesses, carefully picking up the chunks of pencil from the table.  “And Fitz found that jar ages ago.  He can sniff out food like a bloodhound.” **  
**

 

“Damn,” Bobbi mutters.  “I can’t kill him before your big date, but just know, he’s a dead man walking.” **  
**

 

For some strange reason that does make her feel a little better, and after deeming her clean up satisfactory, she turns to Bobbi.  


“So what do you need the support for: project or date?” Bobbi asks. **  
**

 

"Well, I'm fairly confident I can figure out my project, not to mention I'm the only one who has seen the actual material I'm trying to recreate so there isn't much you could do to help with that. So it looks like you can only help with the romantic crisis, isn’t that fun," she explains, and she never says it, but she's so grateful for Bobbi. She doesn't know how she would say it without being weird, but she hopes that her eyes convey it enough. **  
**

 

"Alright, romantic crisis it is," Bobbi agrees. "Though disclaimer on any advice I give, I have two ex husbands and am currently dating one of them.” **  
**

 

“Noted.” **  
**

 

“What's the problem?" **  
**

 

"Well, really, there is no problem," she protests. **  
**

 

"Then why are we talking?" Bobbi challenges. **  
**

 

"I'm just nervous," she admits, fixing her ponytail to give herself to do with her hands. **  
**

 

"First date jitters are fairly normal," Bobbi agrees. "But you two have been inseparable for the past week and a half. You're sharing a room. What's making you nervous?" **  
**

 

"I don't know," she says, sighing. **  
**

 

"Yes, you do. You just don't want to admit it," Bobbi presses accusingly, like the master interrogator she is. "Why are you nervous?" **  
**

 

"This is it," she announces. "This is the line. We've talked about our feelings everything and cuddle a lot more, but this is the actual turning point. Tonight, we're going on a real date as a real couple and not as best friends, and I just... I don't know what to make of it. I'm worried we're not ready." **  
**

 

"Simmons, I'm gonna tell you a secret of the universe," Bobbi says, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You will never be ready for change. If you spend your life waiting for the right moment, or waiting for when you think you're ready, you will never ever get there. I know you know this after everything that's happened: you are both here, you are both alive, make the most of that, okay? You're going on a date tonight. It's probably going to go great, and you're probably going to be happy for a really long time. And even if it goes awful, you're still going to have at the very least a best friend. Life is too short and unpredictable to deny yourself what you want and what makes you happy." **  
**

 

"Thank you, Bobbi," she says, because she's breathing a little easier and the buzzing in her head is subdued and she's so lucky to have the people she has. **  
**

 

“No need to thank me,” Bobbi protests.  “I’m rooting for you guys.”

**  
***  


 

 

She’s not drunk.  Honest, she’s a little tipsy and the room is spinning just a little and things that aren’t that funny make her roar with laughter… alright, maybe she’s a little drunk.  But she’s not that drunk.  She only had four glasses of wine… well, she stopped counting at four, but there weren’t many after that. **  
**

 

Bobbi was right; it had gone great.  The restaurant was as beautiful as she remembered and the food was amazing.  They split some appetizers and a plate of eggplant parmesan, and held hands over the table the whole time.  They made a rule to not talk about work or anything sad before they even left the base, so the conversation was mostly fond reflections on their time at the Academy, retelling the same old stories they had a million times before.  They lingered for a while after dessert, but it was getting late so they left, and now it’s really late and they’re trying to quietly sneak through the base to their room, but he keeps making her laugh and it’s not fair. **  
**

 

“Do you remember the time that I set the toaster on fire in the cafeteria?” he asks, like she could possibly forget.  She clamps a hand over her mouth, but it doesn’t do much to muffle the giggles. **  
**

 

“You were up the whole night before working on your midterm report for Dr. Hall,” she recalls, bumping her shoulder into his side.  They’re holding hands like it’s nothing, but it is something, it’s quite a bit of something, but they don’t talk about it. **  
**

 

“I was so tired, I didn’t even realize I put the plate in with the toast,” he adds, placing a hand on the wall as they stumble forward because she’s not the only one who’s tipsy.  She doubles forward, laughing because she did forget that part. **  
**

 

“And- and then Kayla Jennings got so shocked that she- she spilt coffee down the front of her shirt.” **  
**

 

“Oh my God, you’re right.  I forgot about that,” he chuckled. **  
**

 

“Well, it might be because you were trying to put out the fire-” **  
**

 

“With a dirty dish rag,” he finishes, and that’s when she truly loses it, laughing way too loud for 1:30 am, and they half drag each other to their bunk’s door. **  
**

 

He fumbles with the lock, and her laughter slowly fades, but the grin remains.  This is it.  She’ doesn’t feel desperate or panicked.  This doesn’t feel fake, she’s not afraid of fading away.  She feels light and warm and as happy as she’s even been since more than a year ago.  So he finally gets the door open, and they stumble inside, and the second the door is shut behind them, without even given herself time to hesitate, she throws her arms around his neck, closes her eyes, and kisses him. **  
**

 

It’s incredible in ways she didn’t expect.  It’s right in between chaste and passionate, slightly sloppy, but enthusiastic, eager, and excited.  They’re slotted together perfectly, touching nearly everywhere, and she feels like she’s on fire.  It feels like floating, like a homecoming she’s been waiting for for years.  He pulls away for a quick second, smiling brighter than the fucking sun as he yanks off his coat and throws it somewhere, she isn’t exactly paying attention to the coat.  She gets rid of her jacket as well, still wearing the semi-casual dress Bobbi and Sk-Daisy helped her pick out, and doesn’t bother with putting things away properly either, because she has more important things to do.   **  
**

 

“I love you,” he breaths, when she pushes herself back into his space.   **  
**

 

“I love you, too,” she answers.  Even though it goes unsaid, the words give her such a thrill.  She loves him, and she can say it as much as she likes, she can kiss him whenever she wants.  There’s a world of possibilities that was out of her reach not to long ago, but now it’s all right in front of her, hers for the taking, so close she can practically feel it. So she guides them to their bed, sits them down and picks up where they left off. **  
**

 

Eventually they kick off their shoes and lie down.  Eventually, they fix the pillows and the blankets so they can lie down more comfortable.  Eventually, she decides that lying face to face isn’t working, so she sprawls herself over him like a very heavy blanket.  She’s not sure how long they spend exchanging slow, meaningful kisses, but time doesn’t really matter.  She’s not sure when they stop, but the next thing she knows she’s asleep in his arms. **  
**

 

Now she should have seen it coming, and she’s disappointed in herself for not suspecting something like this was going to happen. Everything had been going perfectly, so of course now, something had to break. **  
**

 

She’s been sleeping with Fitz for the past week and a half, enjoying his warmth.  She suspected that the nightmare she had her first night back was just from the shock of it and she was fine now.  She convinced herself that being with Fitz kept the nightmares away, so she was absolutely fine now. **  
**

 

Except it was getting colder out.  And the heating system hadn’t really kicked in yet.  So she was cold, and she was still wearing slightly uncomfortable date clothes, and in her dreams, she was sleeping in the dirt in the same outfit she’s been wearing for four months (the one she had thought she burned the day she got home, but apparently not because she’s wearing it again).  Her guard is up.  She can wake up at a moment’s notice and run or fight, depending on what’s waiting for her.  In her dream, it’s one of the six-legged beasts that populate the area closest to where she landed.  They’re fast, too fast to outrun, which she learned in the worst way possible and has the scars to prove it.  So she throws punches that are carefully measured and skillfully aimed at weak points that she found by luck on other such learning occasions. She kicks and swings and grapples with the beast confident she will win, until Fitz starts calling her name.  She looks around, but he’s not there, there’s no portal to take her home, but she can still hear him calling. She isn’t paying attention to the beast and suddenly hot red pain is coursing through her… **  
**

 

Except that she’s not back there, she’s home.  With Fitz in their bed, after the best night of her life.  And the pain in her arm isn’t from a hellbeast, but rather from slamming her elbow into Fitz’s nose which has blood trickling from it, and she has him pinned to the bed for some reason, and she probably looks crazed and wild, the jagged edges she’s been hiding are completely exposed, and she’s horrified. **  
**

 

“Jemma, are you alright?” he asks, sounding stuffy because, oh right, she punched his nose in.  She scrambles off of him, out of the bed, clamping her hands over her mouth and trying to calm her racing heart, quell the nausea in her stomach. He doesn’t looked horrified like her should, he doesn’t look concerned (for himself at least) or guarder, and what is wrong with him? What is wrong with her? How could she have put him at risk like this? Why did she think he’d be safe from this ugly thing that was inside her now? **  
**

 

“Are you okay?” he repeats, but she’s not the one wiping blood off her nose. **  
**

 

“I’m sorry,” she breathes, so nauseated she could vomit.  “I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean to, Fitz, I didn’t.” **  
**

 

“Jemma, it’s okay,” he assures her, getting up and taking a step towards her.  What is he even thinking?  


“Don’t!” she protests, taking a step back.  


“Jemma?”

 

“Please,” she begs, but he moves forward again anyway, so she turns and runs, out the door down the hall, as fast as she can, which now is pretty damn fast.   


“Jemma!” he calls, but she can’t stop, she can’t stay, she needs to hide, run, not for herself anymore but for him. She darts past the few people in the hall, ignoring Fitz’s calls for her, moving away from them because she can’t just grab his hand this time.  She’s the danger this time. **  
**

 

She finds an empty closet, home to a few mops and some extra lab supplies, and ducks inside and blocks the door.  She doesn’t turn on the light, doesn’t even know if there is a light, just sits down, brings her knees to her chest and tries to breath evenly.

**  
**  
*  


 

 

It’s been 9 days and 16 hours since he found her.  Sometimes she replays the moment in her head.  The fumbling, the struggling, the grasping and not letting go.  Sometimes she wonders what would’ve happened if she hadn’t been able to grab his hand.  Sometimes she wonders if she shouldn’t have tried to grab his hand at all.  Sometimes she wonders if she should’ve stayed in the blue and the cold, because there’s a thing inside of her now that fit there, but can only bring more pain and hurt here.

**  
**  
*  


 

 

She doesn’t know what she expected.  That he wouldn’t come after her.  That he wouldn’t find the closet.  That she could find a way to dematerialize before he caught up with her.  She doesn’t know why she thought that, because Fitz has always followed her, come hell or high water, so she only gets around 45 seconds before his footsteps stop and he stands still, panting on the other side of the door.   **  
**

 

See, he’s been acting like the perfect gentleman lately so he doesn’t try to open the door, he just knocks. **  
**

 

“Jemma,” he calls, and his voice is soft and careful, similar to everyone else’s voice when they speak to her, but different in the ways that matter. “I know you’re in there.” **  
**

 

“Fitz, please,” she whines.  “Please, just go away.  I don’t want to hurt you.” **  
**

 

“You didn’t hurt me, Jem,” he insists. **  
**

 

“Fitz,” she protests. **  
**

 

“Look, I won’t talk if you don’t want to, but I’m not leaving you here by yourself,” he announces and she can hear him sliding to the ground.   **  
**

 

It feels wrong, to leave him out there after everything they’ve been through.  She remembers how she felt, back when he had just woken up and was struggling so hard with everything, and how much she wanted him to just let her in.  She hears Bobbi’s word, about denying herself happiness.  She feels years and years of fixing things together, and decides that this is one more project they can take on.  But she also holds onto the knowledge that this time she might be able to outrun him if she absolutely has to. **  
**

 

She stands up slowly, and opens the door.  He tips backward from where he’s been leaning on it, and she can manage a grin, just barely. **  
**

 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. **  
**

 

“It wasn’t your fault,” he insists.  “You didn’t mean to.” **  
**

 

“I’m still sorry.” **  
**

 

“I’m going to hug you.  Is that okay?” he asks, telegraphing his movements very carefully.  She nods and suddenly has an armful of him, and she can breath again.  “Come on, let’s go back.” **  
**

 

“I can’t,” she whispers, breath hitching, head shaking.  “I’m sorry I can’t.” **  
**

 

He drops a kiss to her forehead.  “Alright, then where do you want to go?” **  
**

 

And she isn’t sure, so they stay in the closet, but she knows that wherever she picked, he would have followed.

*****

 

They don’t share a room after that.  And it hurts, it makes things worse for both of them.  More often than not she’ll wake up from more blue nightmares without him there to ground her, and most nights he’ll show up at three in the morning, heart racing because he’s terrified she won’t actually be there.  And she hates doing this to them, but she can’t think of any other way to keep him safe. **  
**

 

They still spend time together, eat dinner together, snuggle on the couch, discuss plans for a second date, but at the end of the day, they go to their own rooms and their own demons.

Coulson's giving her more things to do now, because he thinks she's getting better. She spends most of her time in the lab. Sometimes she works on a few projects with Bobbi or Fitz for SHIELD or does her own personal research on the monolithe. She feels herself returning to normalcy as best she can, and it gives her hope. But there's still a lurking sense of unease, an itch under her skin. She's afraid it's going to be there forever. **  
**

 

And then Coulson approves her for active field duty 24 days after she gets back, and she gets on a Quinjet with Mack, Fitz, and Sk-DAISY and is on her way to West Palm Beach. There's an Inhuman there, who's alone and scared with new powers that include teleportation, but there's also a special task force in the area, ready to get rid of a threat. Even still, it's not a particularly difficult mission. She and Fitz are responsible for tracking the girl every time she teleports, and it's not something that they both have to be there to do, but Coulson seems to want to ease her back in. **  
**

 

However, as per the usual, things don't go as planned. The task team found out that she and Fitz had a way to track the girl, and began searching for them and next thing she knows, there's two guys with guns crashing what was supposed to be a secure area in a deserted building on the edge of town. **  
**

 

There's one gun pointed at her and another at Fitz, and they're shouting something about the tracker, demanding answers, barking orders to put their hands up and get on the ground. On of them gets a little too close to Fitz, gun pointed at his sternum, and she sees red. **  
**

 

Her heart pumps faster, adrenaline rushes through her veins and for a moment she's back in the blue, looking at two armed Kree warriors. Time blurs around her like it did with Agent Michaels. **  
**

 

By the time Mack and Daisy (see, she can do it) show up, only seconds later, both of the agents are on the ground, disarmed, and she's only slightly ruffled. **  
**

 

"Damn, Simmons," Daisy breathes, eyes wide. Mack looks equally impressed, and Fitz... Fitz seems amazed and worried and grateful and upset all at the same time, which makes her a little nervous.. **  
**

 

But she protected him. There was a gun at his chest and she saved him. And the thrill of the fight is leaving her, and she's starting to process that they faced death once again, albeit only for around a minute. And this is the first mission where she can act on all the tension from near death situations, so she does. She marches right over to Fitz and plants one on him, which he returns enthusiastically. Mack and Daisy make disgusted noises like the children they are and take care of the two agents while she and Fitz are indisposed. **  
**

 

"That was amazing," he announces when they part. **  
**

 

"Well, I do like to think we have been getting better at it, what with all the practice," she teases. **  
**

 

"You know what I mean," he huffs. **  
**

 

"I do." **  
**

 

"You are amazing." **  
**

 

She's not all the way there yet, but she's starting to believe him when he says that.

**  
**  
*  


 

They bring the girl in, get her set up in a room, and go through a super long debriefing that's unnecessary and draws too much attention to her.. whatever it was. (Fitz calls it an act of heroism, she likes to think of it as an rage fueled outburst, but whatever.)  It makes her slightly uncomfortable, but with Fitz at her side she can handle all the attention on her. (She thinks that with Fitz at her side, she can handle just about anything.) **  
**

 

"You know I was thinking... About our second date," he begins. They're walking back to their rooms, hand in hand, because it's getting late so they might as well. They've been holding hands since the plane, and she loves these simple gestures of intimacy that are different from before. It's like they're still who they used to be, just closer. **  
**

 

"What about it?" she asks. **  
**

 

"Well, I know you wanted to go see a movie, but I found out that there's going to be a street carnival near here next week. I thought it might be fun to go. Fairy floss, funnel cake, rides and games.  I could try and win you a giant teddy bear." **  
**

 

"So basically you want our second date to be a country music video," she accuses. He snorts. **  
**

 

"Yeah," he agrees. "Exactly." **  
**

 

"Sounds fun. And cliché," she notes. "Let's do it." **  
**

 

"Really? Great. That's great," he says, grinning. They reach her door, and he rubs at the back of his neck before giving her a chaste goodnight kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow then." **  
**

 

She stops him with a hand on his bicep. "Fitz," she whispers. **  
**

 

"Yeah?" She doesn't know what to say, how to put what she's thinking into words, so she just hopes that he can still read the look in her eyes as well as he used to. He gives a small nod, tries hard not to look too relieved, and she unlocks the door for them without letting go of his arm. **  
**

 

"Are you sure?" He asks, following her inside. **  
**

 

"No. But I think we should try again anyway," she replies. He nods again, gives her an encouraging smile, and shuffles into the rooms, getting ready for bed. **  
**

 

She takes meticulous care in getting ready while he waits for her patiently on the bed. She puts on the softest pajamas she owns, makes sure her orange colored night light is securely in its socket, double checks the radiator, and brings out some extra blankets. Then finally, she makes her way to the bed and climbs in. Fitz pulls her into his chest and fixes the massive pile of blankets around them.

 ****  
She's scared out of her mind that it's going to happen again, that she's going to hurt him worse this time. But he's warm and safe and home. So she presses her face into his chest, wraps her arms around his waist, and when she finally calms her nerves, she falls asleep to the sound of his heartbeat in her ear and doesn't dream of blue.

**Author's Note:**

> Just my interpretation of Jemma's recovery. I hoped you enjoyed it. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Check me out on tumblr at applejuiz.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
